


The Changeling

by gth694e



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Asgard, Child Death, F/M, Family, Gen, Happy Ending, Mother-Son Relationship, Postpartum Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the losing her son during childbirth, Frigga cannot find room in her heart for the frost giant babe that Odin has brought home from the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ConcertiGrossi, for being a bad influence and a perfect beta reader.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: death of a baby during childbirth (off screen), postpartum depression, grieving the loss of a baby, and discussion of killing a baby.

It was Thor who reached her.  
  
Frigga did not know how much time passed in the blackness of despair. Eons could have passed while she lay alone in her bed, unseeing, unhearing, unthinking. Seeing just reminded her of who was not present. Hearing reminded her of the cries that would not sound. Thinking reminded her of all she had lost.  
  
It was too difficult, too much to bear. She would not, could not live with it.  
  
And then she felt a small hand touch her skin and ask a question in what the little boy probably imagined was a whisper. “Mother is sick?”  
  
Other voices responded, but Frigga did not hear them.  
  
“Get well, Mother. I love you.” And then the hand was gone.  
  
She did not hear him again. Undoubtedly he was shown out as to not disturb her. But that one question, that soft hand, it reminded her of all she had not lost. What she still had to live for.  
  
Thor still deserved his mother.  
  
So Frigga woke herself up from her fugue. Not for herself. Not for Odin. Not for anyone but her golden little boy.  
  
When she sat up in her bed, the nurse dropped her cup in shock. “My queen,” the woman rushed to her side. “You are awake! I…Do you need anything? Do you..?”  
  
“Hush.” Frigga’s voice was weak from disuse, neither regal nor commanding. “Fetch me my son. Please.”  
  
There was a flurry in which Frigga was never left alone. A healer came, checking Frigga’s health and asking her questions about how she felt. Frigga answered them perfunctorily because she knew the sooner the healer was convinced of her health the sooner she would get to see her son.  
  
Finally the healer sat back satisfied. He wiped his hands over his eyes in relief. “My queen, you cannot know how much it pleases us that you are finally well.”  
  
“Thank you,” Frigga said. “Now please, my son.”  
  
“Yes, we will bring them to you,” the healer responded. “Gaea has been summoned. Alas, Odin is not here….”  
  
“Jotunheim,” Frigga suddenly remembered, and fear clutched her heart. She had been confined in the midst of the battle. She did not know if they had won, how many Asgard had lost, or the state of the Nine Realms.  
  
“The war was won, my queen,” the healer said, answering her unspoken question. “But the All-Father is still brokering the terms of surrender with Laufey. We sent word as soon as you woke. The All-Father shall surely come home as soon as he is able.”  
  
Frigga nodded, accepting this. It was her lot as queen. The Nine Realms came before her, before the family. It always had and always would. And undoubtedly more than one father had missed the birth of a child because of this war.  
  
“Mother!” His voice was like light, and Frigga’s eyes filled with tears. She held out her arms, and the little golden bundle practically flew from the door and into her lap.  
  
He snuggled against her, his small arms wrapping tight around her, his face buried against her breast. “I missed you, Mother. I am so glad you are better.”  
  
Frigga could not respond, her throat closed with emotion. She simply held him tight to her, pressing her face against his hair, inhaling his scent. Tears fell from her face and into his hair.  
  
“Mother.” He wriggled in her arms. No toddler could stay still for long, no matter how much he loved or missed his mother.  
  
She loosened her grip, and he leaned back. Still sitting in her lap, but smiling up at her with his small, bright face. She had forgotten how blue his eyes were, like the morning sky. Frigga reached up and smoothed down his golden hair, which was sticking every which way. It was really in need of a cut. She would have a word with his nurse.  
  
“I love you, Thor,” she said. “I am sorry I have not been…That I have been…”  
  
“You were sick,” he said as if those three words could explain why for the past two weeks he had been without a mother. It was such trust and innocence. She could not meet his gaze. She did not deserve such love.  
  
A commotion at the doorway caused Thor to look away. Joy alighted his young face, and he was off of her lap, running. “Loki! Loki! Baby Loki!”  
  
Loki. All of the air rushed from her lungs, and she could not breathe. Spots swam in front of her eyes, darkness threatening to overwhelm her.  
  
“My lady,” the healer was instantly by her side, concern filling his dark eyes as he looked up into her face, his fingers on her wrist, automatically checking her pulse. “Are you well?”  
  
A baby’s cry reached her ears, and Frigga knew she was hallucinating. How many times had she thought she heard that cry in her despair? A cry she would never hear. A cry she would gladly trade her own life for to hear.  
  
“Mother?” Thor’s plaintive voice sounded in the background, but it was lost in the sounds of nurses and healers scrambling.  
  
“My lady,” the healer spoke in soft tones. “Do you feel well? Please, tell me how you are feeling so that I can…”  
  
“I am hallucinating.” She buried her face in her hands. “Or else there is a baby nearby, and if there is, please, please have them move it to another room. I cannot…I cannot…”  
  
“My lady,” a nearby nurse said in surprise. “You do not want to see your son?”  
  
“Thor can stay,” she said.  
  
“No.” Puzzlement touched the nurse’s tone. “Your other son. The baby. Loki.”  
  
Her heart burst, and ugly sobs unbefitting of a queen wracked her body. Suddenly the healer was shouting, sending everybody away. “The Queen needs some peace. Thor, stay with me. Gaea, stay. But the rest, out out out.”  
  
“Mother?” Thor’s small voice once again reached through the fog of her despair. It took a moment but she got herself under control. For Thor.  
  
“Yes, baby,” she said, pulling her hands away from her face. And Thor, Yggdrasil bless his golden head, scrunched his face into a bright smile.  
  
“I’m not the baby anymore, Mother,” he laughed. “Loki is!”  
  
That name. She could not bear to hear that name, especially not from Thor. He had been so excited by the prospect of a brother. So gleeful in the way that only a toddler who truly did not understand what a baby meant could be.  
  
“Thor,” the healer said. “Let me talk to your mother for a moment.”  
  
The boy nodded and backed up. Frigga followed him with his eyes, watching as he retreated to his nurse, Gaea. The woman was sitting in a chair, cradling something—a bundle in her arms. As Frigga watched the bundle squirmed, small fists punching the air.  
  
Frigga’s breath caught in her throat. She tore her eyes away, looking to the healer. “What is going on? Why is there…Who is Gaea holding?”  
  
“The All-Father should really be here for this,” the healer said in frustration. “But Thor would not…Thor insisted, and your son can be incredibly stubborn when he wants to be.”  
  
“Stop prevaricating.” She filled her tone with the authority of the All-Mother, and the healer managed to look ashamed. “Whose baby is that?”  
  
“Yours,” the healer responded.  
  
“My baby is dead.” No hitch. No tears. Just bleakness.  
  
“Yes. No. I…” the healer looked desperate, his eyes flickering from Frigga to the door as if expecting someone to save him from this conversation.  
  
“Frigga.” A voice in the doorway filled the healer’s face with relief. He immediately got up, backing away from Frigga and bowed in the direction of the door.  
  
“All-Father,” the healer said.  
  
“You are dismissed.” Odin’s tone was sharp and clipped. “Gaea. Please wait outside with the boys.”  
  
The healer and the nurse both left, Gaea clutching Thor with one hand. The boy shot a glance back at his mother as he went through the door but did not complain. How many times had he been ushered away from his mother in recent days?  
  
Frigga looked up at her husband and could not help the gasp that escaped her lips. His sandy hair had streaks of gray that had not been there before. Lines he had not once possessed marred his youthful visage. But all of that was nothing compared to the golden eye patch that covered his right eye.  
  
“Odin!” Frigga struggled with her blankets, trying to get to her feet, trying to come to him, but she was too weak and the warm blankets were too heavy, and it did not matter because Odin was by her side in seconds, the big man kneeling by her bedside and taking her hands in his.  
  
“Frigga, my love,” he said, looking up at her with one soulful eye and one gleaming patch of gold. “I am well. Laufey, he took my eye on the final day of battle, but I am well now. I am well.”  
  
Frigga pulled her hands from his and reached out, cupping his face in his hands. She had to touch him, had to feel it for herself. She let her hand trail up his face and touched the point where the eye patch met his skin. Such coldness was incongruous against his warm flesh.  
  
He was such a good man, a good king. Her eyes filled with tears again, and she said, “I am sorry. I was not strong enough. I lost him. I lost our baby.”  
  
And sobs were once more wracking her body. Odin rose and pulled her into his arms. She wept into his chest as he rocked her, making soothing sounds.  
  
“I know, my love. I know,” he said. “I know. I love you.”  
  
She did not know how long they were like this--Odin’s arms her only anchor in the storm of her soul—but eventually she regained control. She leaned back and looked up into his bright blue eyes. Thor’s eyes. “I am sorry,” she said. “I am sure this was not the reception you were expecting, when you come home victorious from battle.”  
  
“I am just glad that you live,” he said. “The healers were worried, my love. You scared us all.”  
  
“I am sorry.”  
  
“Stop apologizing,” he said. “It is I who needs to apologize.” And then suddenly all of the tenderness and gentleness on his face vanished into the mask of the All-Father.  
  
Frigga pulled back. Fear fluttered in her heart.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Loki,” he said, and Frigga flinched. It was the name they had picked out when the healers had told them they were having another son. Odin had been so pleased. Two sons to secure his line. “Every king should have a brother,” Odin had said. “Someone to share the burden of life with. Someone he can trust without question.”  
  
Now there would be no brother. The healers had said it while trying to repair her. She would never have more children. Thor would be the only heir, the only child, the only hope. Thor would be alone.  
  
“Loki is dead,” Frigga said, twisting the blankets in her fists. It hurt to say. It was like admitting a part of herself was dead. And so it was. A part of her had died when the healer had pulled the child from her and the babe had not cried.  
  
Stillborn. Even with all their magic and technology, even with all their power and glory, children were still occasionally lost in childbirth, as were their mothers. They had said Frigga was lucky to be alive after the intense labor.  
  
It did not feel lucky to Frigga.  
  
“Yes, our babe is dead,” Odin said, and there was a crack in his façade. For a moment the man behind the All-Father bled through. Pain and despair and anger. But then the mask was back. “But there is another babe.”  
  
Frigga did not respond to that. She did not know what to say. She stilled her hands, staring down at them as Odin continued.  
  
“After the battle ended, when I was on Jotunheim, Heimdall—he told me about you, about our…” Odin’s voice cracked. “He told me what the healers told you. Our child was dead. You would have no more. And I was wandering the battle field, staring down at all the death, when I heard a babe’s cry.  
  
“I could not help myself. I followed it, and I found a frost giant babe. Small but healthy. Abandoned to die because of his size. And I could not Frigga. I could not leave him there not when our…not after so much death. Not after everything. I could not.  
  
“I had Heimdall bring me back here. No one else saw. I went straight to your healer. Only he knows.”  
  
“Knows what?” Frigga looked up, her eyes sharp, her stomach roiling and steeling herself. Steeling her heart. Her voice rose. “Knows what?”  
  
“That Loki died,” he said.  
  
Frigga stared at him, not comprehending.  
  
“Frigga, my love,” he said. The All-Father façade was gone. His eye was pleading, but his golden eye patch reflected her expression back at her, an expression of confusion tinged with disbelief. “The Asgard think our second son lives. And they think that the child I brought back is him. Loki.”  
  
Rage blossomed in her heart and consumed her. Her throat hurt, and she realized it was because she was screaming. “LOKI IS DEAD. LOKI IS DEAD. OUR SON IS DEAD.”  
  
Alarm filled Odin’s face and before he could respond the healer was there, his cool hands touching Frigga, pushing her back on the bed.  
  
Then there was only blessed blackness.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who woke her.  
  
His small body pressed against hers, using her stomach as a pillow. She opened her eyes and looked down at the golden head. She did not know who had decided he could sleep with her, or if he had snuck away from Gaea in the middle of the night, but she was grateful. He was her rock, her life, her light.  
  
She put her hand on his small back, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He was alive. She was alive. And even if her baby was dead, she still had this. She still had him. He could not fill the ache Loki had left in her heart. She would give all the rest of her heart to him. He deserved it.  
  
A soft cry in the corner of the room caused Frigga to stiffen. She turned and saw Gaea, leaning over a cradle. Who had put a cradle in her room?  
  
Gaea reached in the cradle, and then the crying settled down. The woman turned back and froze when she saw Frigga’s eyes on her.  
  
“I am sorry, my lady, I did not mean to wake you,” the nurse said, her eyes downcast, looking afraid and ashamed. “Thor wanted to see you, and I could not leave the baby. So we moved in here for the night, but if that is not acceptable…”  
  
“Gaea.” Frigga spoke and stopped the woman’s babbling. “It is fine. I am glad you brought me Thor. I am glad.”  
  
The woman relaxed and sat at the seat at the bedside, so she could more easily speak to the All-Mother.  
  
“My lady,” she said, and then she stopped, her face flushing. “I am sorry. It is not my place.”  
  
“What? What is it, Gaea?” Frigga asked. “We have never had secrets between us. Speak.”  
  
“I have always cared for Thor, since he was a babe,” she said. “I knew from that first moment that he was your and the All-Father’s son, I could see it in his blue eyes. I did not need anyone to tell me whose son he was.  
  
“And if the All-Father tells me this babe is your son, your Loki, I will accept it,” she said. “But if you tell me he is not, if you tell me you do not wish for him…” The woman hesitated, and then she looked up, locking eyes with her queen. Her gaze was steel. “Infants die of mysterious circumstances in their sleep all the time.”  
  
Relief. Horror. Joy. Fear. Gratitude, and the tiniest bit of smugness. Odin thought only two people knew. He had not counted on who would find out just by having the ability to observe their surroundings.  
  
“I…I am not sure that is necessary,” Frigga said slowly, measuring out her words. This babe was not hers, but that did not mean she could issue such an edict. Not after so much death. There would be other ways to get rid of this changeling, once she convinced Odin. A faked illness, followed by smuggling him back to Jotunheim. Odin had smuggled him into Asgard. He could smuggle him out.  
  
“But thank you,” Frigga continued. “You do not know what that means to me.”  
  
“You are welcome, my lady,” Gaea said, dropping her gaze again.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who got her out of bed.  
  
She had been sleeping when suddenly she heard a scream. Frigga was on her feet and out of the room before she knew what was happening. She stumbled into the sitting room, just outside her own door, her breath coming too fast, her legs trembling beneath her from disuse.  
  
Thor sat in the middle of the room, his face bright red, large fat tears dripping down his cheeks, his small body trembling with emotion.  
  
“Thor,” Frigga said, collapsing to her knees next to him because her legs would no longer hold her up. She pulled him into his arms, rocking him and looking about wildly for Gaea. Where was she? Why had she left her son alone? “Are you well? What is wrong?”  
  
“Loki,” he wailed. “Gaea will not let me see Loki.”  
  
Frigga froze mid rock, her arms still tight around her son.  
  
“My lady!” The door of the nursery opened, Gaea coming through, breathless, bags under her eyes, her eyes bloodshot. “You are not supposed to be up! You must go back to bed this instant.”  
  
“Gaea,” Frigga said. “Why have you left my son alone?”  
  
Gaea froze, one hand still on the door behind her. Then her eyes flicked to Thor and back to the door. “My lady, I apologize,” she said. “But Thor is having a brief respite, as he well knows, for playing too rough with Lo…with the babe. And I just put the babe down for his nap. But I had my eye on him, my lady. I swear.”  
  
Frigga struggled to her feet, trying to pick up her son but nearly falling backwards. Gaea was by her side instantly, stabilizing her and taking Thor from Frigga. “My lady! You are not strong enough.”  
  
“No,” Frigga said, wanting to snatch Thor back but not able to. “You will no longer neglect my son for that monster.”  
  
“Monster?” Thor’s blue eyes got wide, his head whipping wildly about, his imagined hurt forgotten. “Where?”  
  
“Shall I get another nurse for the babe, my lady?” Gaea asked.  
  
“Yes,” Frigga said, and then her good sense got the better of her. There was no one else she could trust with the changeling. No one else she could trust to do what had to be done, if it came to that. She could not have a nurse falling in love with the impostor. “No, Gaea. No. I am sorry. I… I overreacted.”  
  
“It is fine, my lady,” Gaea said. “Shall we take you back to your bed now? Perhaps Thor could read you a story. He has been working very hard on his reading.”  
  
“I have! I have!” Thor squealed, his tantrum forgotten. “I have been practicing with Loki!”  
  
The name hurt, a sharp pain through her heart. But Frigga masked it for Thor’s sake. Finding a smile for him. “Yes, that sounds nice.”  
  
Soon Frigga found herself back in her bed, her son on her lap flipping through a book and “reading.” The young boy still did not grasp how to truly connect symbols with sounds, he was a little young for that still, but he concocted the wildest stories from looking at the pictures. It always filled Frigga’s heart with contentment to hold her son and listen to his small voice make up nonsensical tales.  
  
Gaea left at some point and came back with a squirming bundle in her arms. She rocked the child, feeding him from a bottle, as she watched Frigga and Thor.  
  
Frigga assiduously ignored them both, instead focusing on her own joy. Her son. Her Thor.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who showed the baby to her.  
  
Frigga was finally allowed out of her bed but only allowed to walk around the royal family’s personal chambers. She mostly walked from her room to the nursery when the changeling was napping, avoiding being in the same room as the babe. She would walk laps around the sitting room with Thor, hand in hand, and the little boy thought it was great fun. He would pretend it was a quest and that each lap was through a new realm, fighting new beasts, defeating new monsters, and succeeding in whatever goal his little mind concocted.  
  
One day Frigga entered the nursery to collect her son, during the babe’s usual naptime, only to find that the babe was on a pillow in the middle of the room. Thor sat beside him, his little knees pulled against his chest, staring down at the infant with big adoring eyes.  
  
Gaea was in the rocking chair, a sewing project discarded in her lap, her head hanging forward, her eyes closed, and soft sleeping sounds coming from her.  
  
“Mother!” Thor said. He jumped to his feet and raced to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the room. Frigga stumbled after him, her heart beating erratically.  
  
Thor stopped beside the baby, looking down at him. “Gaea says I can only touch him _gently_.” He stressed the last word, as if it had been yelled at him many times. “And I cannot hold him. Because he is…is…” Thor’s face scrunched up trying to remember the word Gaea used. “Fradge?”  
  
“Fragile,” Frigga absently corrected. And then because she was curious, she looked down at the baby.  
  
Big green eyes, sparkling like emeralds in the sunlight, stared up at her. His skin was milky pale, which Frigga found surprising. She supposed something had to be done, or else everyone in the city would be talking about how Frigga had given birth to a blue baby, but she wondered where Odin had gotten the magic. Usually he relied on Frigga for such tricks. His head was covered in dark fuzz, and Frigga wondered how Odin expected anyone to believe that the sandy haired Odin and blonde Frigga could give birth to a child with such dark hair.  
  
The Aesir were not stupid.  
  
However, they were unused to their All-Father lying to them. If the All-Father said it was true, they accepted it as true.  
  
Those green eyes. They were stunning. And they made Frigga wonder what color eyes her baby, her Loki had. Surely not green like this impostor.  
  
Her eyes filled with tears. She would never know what color eyes her child had. She would never know what color hair. Or if his skin would be golden like Thor’s or more pale like her own. She would not know if he would take after herself or Odin. If he would have Thor’s energy or be more sedate. Would he be clever or book smart? She would never know. Ever.  
  
And instead Odin expected her to raise this monster in Loki’s place.  
  
She would not do it. She could not do it. Loki deserved better than that.  
  
Thor deserved better. Asgard deserved better. She deserved better. She just had to get Odin to see that.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who told her she was not allowed to leave.  
  
“What?” Frigga asked. From the blood draining in Gaea’s face it was clear that something of what Thor had just said was true.  
  
“Father said you cannot come to the feast tonight,” Thor said, not realizing the affect his words were having on his mother. “He said you have to stay here. Until you get better.”  
  
Frigga’s eyes cut across the room to Gaea. The woman quailed, burrowing her head in her sewing project, obviously avoiding Frigga’s gaze.  
  
Frigga had been feeling perfectly well this past week, but the healer had been insisting she stay confined to quarters for a little while longer, just to make sure.  
  
Now Frigga knew why.  
  
She left Thor to his toys and turned her icy gaze on Gaia. “I would speak to the All-Father,” she said coldly. “You will get him for me.”  
  
“But my lady, the children…”  
  
“I can watch my own son,” Frigga’s voice was cutting, and Gaea raced from the room.  
  
When Odin arrived, Frigga was staring out the window with her back to him. She heard Gaea speak softly to Thor, and soon the two were in the nursery, where the changeling slept.  
  
“What is it, my love?” Odin asked.  
  
“So am I your prisoner,” Frigga said.  
  
Silence. Then: “You are recovering. We thought it was best…”  
  
“I am recovered!” Frigga whirled around and took a step forward. Odin flinched. “If there is to be a feast tonight celebrating our newly attained peace then why should I—the queen of Asgard—not attend?”  
  
“You are still ill…”  
  
“I AM NOT ILL!” Frigga shouted. “Tell me the truth!”  
  
“Fine!” Odin’s temper was always short. It was no wonder that Frigga’s screams made him shout. “You want to know why I cannot have you wandering Asgard? Because they would all congratulate you on the birth of your son and ask after Loki’s health.”  
  
“LOKI IS DEAD.”  
  
“And that is why you must remain here!”  
  
“I am a prisoner, because I refuse to accept a monster in the place of my son?”  
  
“You are not a prisoner. Stop twisting my words.”  
  
“Twisting your words? You are twisting our lives! Our family! What gives you the right? You give me this viper and expect me to love it. You do not allow me to mourn my son with Asgard. Who do you think you are?”  
  
“I AM THE ALL-FATHER,” he roared.  
  
“BUT NOT HIS FATHER,” Frigga screamed back.  
  
She paused, trying to regain her breath, and realized the entire apartment was filled with cries. The changeling was screaming in the nursery. Thor was crying.  
  
When Odin spoke his voice was soft and gentle. His one eye held her gaze. “Our baby died,” he said. “And we can never have another. That child was abandoned by his parents. If you do not accept him, he will never have any other. He will die. You would wish the same fate on him that became of our Loki?”  
  
“Why do you want this so badly?” Frigga demanded. “Why did you take him?”  
  
“He was an innocent child.”  
  
“No. You took him for a purpose. It was not the good will of your heart. I know you better than that, Odin Borson.”  
  
He stayed silent, his face unreadable. The rage built within Frigga once again. The anger. But no, she would not yell at him. She was not Odin. She did not need to rage. So instead she spoke softly, coldly. “Tell me.”  
  
“Our peace with the Jotunn is tenuous at best,” Odin finally admitted. “If we raise this child as our own, as an Aesir, but he is Laufey’s heir…”  
  
“You would have him rule Jotunheim,” Frigga finished for him.  
  
Odin nodded, curtly.  
  
“So he is to be your tool. And you expect me to love him?”  
  
Odin shrugged. “I expect you to raise him as Thor’s brother. But whether you love him or not, that I cannot force you to do.”  
  
Frigga turned her back on him and went back to the window, staring out over Asgard. It gleamed gold in the light of the Nine Realms.  
  
“Thor needs a companion, Frigga. We need peace with Jotunheim. Will you do this for me?”  
  
“I cannot call him Loki. I cannot mourn my son and call this monster by the same name as him.”  
  
Odin was silent for a moment. “That is fair. But Loki is the name by which Asgard knows him. The name by which Thor knows him. We cannot change it now.”  
  
“That is not my problem,” Frigga said.  
  
Odin did not respond, and when Frigga turned back around he was gone.  
  
Frigga stood for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had been. Then she collapsed on the couch and cried.  
  
Loki was dead. And no other child could replace him. Jotunn or Aesir. No one else could be Loki.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who questioned her.  
  
He was jumping on her bed, pretending to fight off Jotunns with a wooden play sword, sized just for him. Frigga sat on the edge of the bed, reading a book.  
  
She looked up when the bed stopped bouncing, because a still Thor was rarely a good thing. He had dropped his sword and was looking at her, a small frown contorting his brow. “What is it, Thor?”  
  
“Why do you not love Loki?” he asked.  
  
Frigga gripped the edges of her book, her knuckles turning white. She was not prepared to have this conversation with her son. She did not want to lie to him, but Odin had made his wishes clear. The changeling was to be raised as Thor’s brother, and until such time Frigga could convince Odin that the Jotunn was a greater danger than he was an asset, she was to obey the All-Father’s wishes.  
  
“I do love Loki,” she said, because it was not a lie. She loved the child she had lost with all of her heart, so much that she knew her heart would never fully heal.  
  
She just did not love the changeling Thor thought of as Loki.  
  
“But you never play with him,” Thor insisted.  
  
Frigga closed her eyes, putting the book down. What could she tell him?  
  
“Is it because he is fragile?” He said pronouncing the word carefully. “It does make him hard to play with. Mostly he just lays there. But he makes funny noises and he likes to grab things and put them in his mouth. And I think it is fun to tickle him but Gaea says I should not tickle him too hard because he is little and I might hurt him, but she says he will grow up and then he will be more fun than he is now.”  
  
Frigga opened her eyes and looked at her son. He was sitting cross legged on the bed, staring at her earnestly.  
  
“Do you…do you love Loki?” Frigga asked. The name tasted like ashes in her mouth.  
  
“Oh yes!” His face lit up. “I love being a big brother. Gaea says it is my job to protect him, because he is small and fragile and does not know all the things I know so I will have to teach him and play with him. But not hard. Gentle. But I can be gentle. I can be a good big brother. And when he is bigger—but not as big as me because I am the big brother—we can go on adventures and quests!”  
  
Frigga reached out and smoothed down his golden hair, which always seemed to be standing on end. Even Aesir had cowlicks.  
  
“We are going to be the best warriors in all of Asgard,” Thor continued. “Me and Loki.”  
  
Frigga could not help the tears that slipped from her eyes. It was what she had wanted: Thor to have a brother that he could love and trust.  
  
“I am sure you will,” she said.  
  
“Thor!” Gaea poked her head into the room. She smiled at them. “Thor! It is time for bed! Come!”  
  
“Bed?” Thor made a face and looked to Frigga. “Do I have to?”  
  
“Yes, yes you do,” Frigga said. She got up from the bed and picked Thor up. “I will take him, Gaea.”  
  
The other woman nodded, and Frigga carried Thor to the nursery. She moved to put him in bed, but Thor stopped her with his words. “Mother, can I kiss Loki good night?”  
  
Frigga hesitated and then nodded, carrying him over the cradle where the babe slept. Thor leaned down in her arms—she had to brace herself against the cradle to balance his weight—and the boy brushed a sloppy wet kiss against the sleeping babe’s cheek. “Goodnight, Loki!” he said. “I love you!”  
  
“Your turn, Mother!” Thor said, looking up at her with his beaming golden face.  
  
Frigga could not say no to that face. She could not break his heart. So she leaned down and brushed her dry lips against an unspeakably soft cheek. Tears filled her eyes, but she did not let them fall.  
  
“Goodnight, baby,” she whispered, because she knew it was what Thor expected. She closed her eyes and imagined Thor in her mind, pretending she was speaking to him and not this changeling. “I love you.”  
  
The toddler then happily went to bed.  
  
Once Thor was asleep, Frigga left his side and went back to the crib. The soft light of the nursery illuminated the baby inside. He was not as small as he had been when she first saw him. He had been here for two months now. He was much smaller than Thor had been at the same age. Small for an Asgard. Miniscule for a giant.  
  
Small but not unhealthy. Alive. What sort of mother could look at her healthy child—no matter how small—and not want it? What sort of mother put her baby out in the cold to die? Left to be found by her enemy?  
  
What kind of mother abandoned her child?  
  
She tried to imagine leaving Thor somewhere and never looking back. She could not. She would never.  
  
A baby deserved better than that. A baby deserved a mother.  
  
She looked down at the sleeping baby. He was not her son, and there was no room in her heart for him. But he made Thor happy. Thor loved him. And she loved Thor.  
  
She would do anything for her son. Even let a frost giant sleep in her nursery. Even pretend that he was her son.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who fell ill first.  
  
For him it was a runny nose and a persistent cough. But Thor, being Thor, barely slowed down. It took both Gaea and Frigga to keep him in bed. He kept getting up and running around the room, laughing. He thought it was a great game when Gaea chased him shouting for him to get back in bed. His laughter was interrupted with coughing, but he still managed to outrun his nurse.  
  
It took a direct command from Frigga to get him in bed, drinking his water, and eating soup. He sat and giggled, as Gaea collapsed in the rocking chair in exhaustion.  
  
But then the babe got sick.  
  
What was a mild cold for Thor was a severe illness for the changeling. He could not breathe, his nose constantly leaking and crusting over, his lungs seizing and coughing. The healer came and worried. He gave them a dry mix to put in the baby’s pap and instructed Gaea to feed it to the babe every hour.  
  
“What if he is sleeping?” Gaea asked.  
  
“Then wake him,” the healer said. “I will not lie to you. He is very ill. This illness has been sweeping through Asgard and more than one infant has been near death because of it. And Loki is a Frost Giant.” The healer knew Gaea knew. “I do not understand how the illness might affect his unique physiology. You will have to watch him closely and if anything changes, get me instantly.”  
  
The healer left and the women set to work. Frigga cared for Thor while Gaea cared for the changeling.  
  
Frigga fell asleep with her head pillowed in her arms on Thor’s small bed. But the sound of desperate coughing, the coughing a child who could not breathe, woke Frigga.  
  
She instantly sat up, reaching out for Thor. But his breathing was even, regular. The sound was coming from behind her. The cradle.  
  
She turned and saw Gaea asleep in the rocking chair, four different bottles made up and set on the changing table. The woman looked tired, too tired to wake. So Frigga got up and went to the cradle.  
  
The baby’s bright green eyes were open, and his small body was wracked by tiny coughs. His face was red, his lips blue.  
  
It would be so easy to do nothing. Breathing would become harder and harder for him, and he would die within the hour. Frigga had seen it before with other babies. Everyone would believe it. Everyone would accept it. Illness took babes every year, regardless if they were princes or paupers. Everyone would accept that this imposter prince had died, and finally Asgard would mourn with her.  
  
But then how was she any different from the frost giant who had left this child out to die?  
  
Frigga picked him up, leaning him against her chest and patting his back. “All is well,” she said in the same light voice she used to comfort Thor. “All is well.”  
  
She grabbed one of the bottles off the shelf and rotated the babe in her arms, offering the nipple to him. He tried to drink but his breath was too labored. He tried to cry. But his cries were too weak.  
  
The skin around his lips turned blue.  
  
He stopped breathing.  
  
Frigga panicked.  
  
She bundled the child in her arms and raced from the room and out into the hall. Clad only in her long white nightgown, she raced through the palace halls and to the one place where she knew the babe would receive aid.  
  
When the queen of Asgard arrived in the hospice, clad in her nightgown, her hair a halo of gold around her, hysterically demanding help for her baby, the healers stared at her for a moment, sure she was an apparition.  
  
“HE IS NOT BREATHING!” Frigga screamed, and her desperate cry moved them into action. None of them had ever heard their queen raise her voice. None of them had ever heard such desperation.  
  
A healer took the babe from Frigga’s arms, and Frigga hovered over the woman as she put him on a small table. The healer’s hands worked, operating the machine. A golden light filled the air above the table, particles filling the air and swarming around the infant. Suddenly the babe’s chest was rising and falling.  
  
When his lips turned red again, Frigga collapsed into tears, relief flooding her soul.  
  
She did not know why she cried, why she was so relieved. Because she had proved herself to not be a monster? Because she had saved something Thor had loved so much?  
  
She did not know. She just knew it certainly was not because she loved the imposter Odin had forced on her. But perhaps she was not completely heartless. He was still a baby. And every baby deserved to live.  
  
Especially since her Loki had not gotten to.  
  
The healers tried to move Frigga to a cot, but she refused to leave the table’s side, as if pulling her eyes away from the babe might cause him to stop breathing.  
  
Hours passed with the babe in the machine, only breathing because of the golden light. And then finally the healer lifted him out and offered him to Frigga.  
  
She hesitated and then pulled the babe into his arms. His weight was a strangely comforting presence against her breast.  
  
She looked down at him relieved to see his breath was coming easily, that though his nose was still running every breath seemed to be easy and free for him. His bright green eyes were open and awake, peering up at her.  
  
And he smiled.  
  
Frigga's heart clenched.  
  
It was just a baby’s smile, she told herself. Every baby’s smile was beautiful, even when it was not your own.  
  
“Will he be well?” Frigga asked the healer.  
  
“He is still ill,” the woman said, “but he should be well for now. We will send a healer up to your chambers in a few hours to check in on you both. But he should be well, my lady.”  
  
“Good,” Frigga said. It was good.  
  
But that did not mean she loved him.  
  
#  
  
It was Thor who gave her strength.  
  
For being the center from which the Nine Realms was ruled, Asgard could certainly be small. Gossip traveled faster than the Bifrost, and soon everyone knew of the queen’s desperate midnight visit to the hospice. The tale brought relief and joy to everyone, though that might seem strange. But the Queen of Asgard had been too long in her chambers.  
  
The rumors had been that she was deathly ill. That she still had not recovered from her pregnancy. Or that she suffered from the melancholy that sometimes overcame mothers after giving birth. That she did not love her youngest son, not as she loved her Thor.  
  
Tales of a queen demanding healers save her baby relieved all of Asgard. But it was still not enough. Stories were little better than rumors. The queen needed to be seen in daylight outside of her chambers. And Odin, upon learning that his wife did finally seem at least to care if the babe lived or died, decided it was finally time to allow Frigga leave their chambers.  
  
“Are you sure you are well, my love?” Odin looked at her with that gentle, tender expression that he only ever reserved for her and Thor. She had never seen him give it to the babe. Mostly he showed him mild amusement. And for the rest of the Aesir he only showed the mask of the All-Father.  
  
“I am perfectly healthy,” Frigga said as she checked her hair one last time in a looking glass. If this was to be the Aesir’s first sight of her in ages, then she would look immaculate.  
  
A few stray hairs would not be tamed back into place, but with a smile and a motion of her fingers, an illusion settled over her hair, making it look perfect.  
  
“I hate it when you do that,” Odin said. “It is as if you do not believe how naturally lovely you are. You do not need illusions to make you beautiful, my love.”  
  
She smiled at his reflection in her mirror but did not respond. He did not understand. This was not about loveliness. It was about perfection and order.  
  
Satisfied with her appearance, Frigga turned. “Now where are Thor and the baby.”  
  
Odin watched her, his expression closing off. “He has a name.”  
  
Frigga stiffened, turning away from her husband. “I know what he is called.” Her tone brooked no further room for discussion, and Odin let it drop.  
  
Seconds later they were walking through the palace, Thor a flurry of motion—practically flying, definitely bouncing—running from wall to wall and person to person and then always back to Frigga. She was his base in whatever imaginary game he was playing. Or maybe she was simply his touchstone in a world that was still both large and new to him.  
  
Frigga and Odin walked sedately. Odin with smiles and a kind word for any Aesir they passed. Frigga with steel in her heart and a smile on her face.  
  
Everyone wanted to see the new baby.  
  
This was not the babe’s first time out. Gaea had taken him with her on Thor’s many outings. But it was the first time Frigga was out with him. And everyone wanted to see the mother and son together.  
  
They all cooed over him. Over how beautiful he was. Over his large bright eyes. Over his thick swath of hair. Over how aware of his surroundings he seemed to be.  
  
It hurt every time they called him Loki. Every time the name was uttered it was a new wound. A thousand cuts that the Aesir did not know they were bestowing.  
  
But Frigga did not become queen of Asgard without also becoming an actress of some talent. She could smile and laugh even as she bled to death.  
  
Eventually Odin took mercy and swept them back to their rooms, telling their citizens it was time for an afternoon respite. Respite was Thor’s least favorite word, and he sulked all the way back to the rooms. The baby on the other hand fell asleep in Frigga’s arms, gently sucking on his thumb.  
  
“They all think he is ours,” Frigga said in amazement, as she laid the baby down in his cradle. Not a single Aesir had looked at the child with anything resembling disbelief or hesitance. They had looked at the pale baby with a mop of pitch hair and accepted that it was the son of their All-Father and his queen. Without question.  
  
It was terrifying how much the people of Asgard trusted them.  
  
“That is because he is ours,” Odin said with a hand on her shoulder. He gazed down at the baby. “He is a prince of Asgard. And we shall raise him to be a king.”  
  
“I am going to be king,” Thor said sleepily from his bed.  
  
“Of course, my son,” Odin said turning to his son. “And what a great king you will be.”  
  
Frigga stood alone next to the cradle, staring down at the sleeping baby. A prince of Asgard raised to be a king of Jotunheim.  
  
She wondered if being sent to Jotunheim would feel like a reward or an exile. Would he hate them, she wondered, for expelling him from Asgard’s golden halls and sending him to the frozen hell of Jotunheim?  
  
Did she care if he hated them?  
  
She stared down at him and found she did.  
  
#  
  
It was Loki whom she betrayed.  
  
A babe’s cry penetrated her slumber, and Frigga fought through the fog of sleep. She was in the nursery before she knew she was awake, standing over the cradle, reaching for the weeping infant.  
  
She cradled him in her arms and began to do the bounce-rock step that always seemed to calm babies, while speaking in her most soothing tone. “It is alright, baby. Mother is here. Calm your tears, Loki.”  
  
She said the name without thinking. She said the name as if it belonged to him. It was not until she said it again, trying to calm him, that she realized what she had done.  
  
She stopped, horror flooding her heart. She had betrayed her own, her lost baby who had been taken from her by the cruelty of life. And here she was holding another, comforting another, giving another his name.  
  
This baby was not Loki. It did not matter what others called him. It did not matter if that was the name he answered to. He was not her Loki.  
  
Her Loki was dead. Unmourned. Probably burned in quiet so no one would know of his existence. No one would ever know him or know of him, all because of this frost giant babe, this cuckoo in her nest.  
  
Frigga roughly put the babe back in the cradle, unable to touch him, to hold him, to even look at him. The babe began to cry again, and Frigga hardened her heart. This was not Loki. This was not her son. And he never would be.  
  
She stalked out of the nursery, ignoring Gaea as the woman rubbed sleep out of her eyes and stumbled past her.  
  
Then Frigga collapsed in her bed and wept.  
  
Wept for her lost son.  
  
Wept that her heart had no more room.  
  
#  
  
It was Loki whom she mourned.  
  
She left in the middle of the day, while Odin was holding court and Gaea had the boys out for a stroll. She told no one of where she was going, though before she left she pleaded with the air, knowing that Heimdall was watching. “Give me this, good Heimdall,” she said. “Do not tell Odin where I have gone. Please.”  
  
Since no one came after her, she assumed the sentry obeyed her wishes.  
  
Frigga packed a small bag, taking objects from the nursery. Objects she had procured while still great with child. Objects she had intended for her newborn son. A blanket she had quilted herself. A wooden doll that a serving girl had shyly given her. Tokens that had been intended for the baby boy. Tokens he had never gotten a chance to enjoy.  
  
The stable master was curious but did not question when Frigga ordered a horse be made ready. Soon she was making her way through the streets of Asgard, her hood covering her face so no one would know who she was.  
  
Just another woman going about the business of her day.  
  
She eventually reached her destination. A hidden grotto that she knew few of the Aesir visited. There were such nicer beaches and coasts. This one was small. Tiny. Forgotten.  
  
Frigga tied the horse to a post and unpacked her bag. She pulled out a small wooden boat she had procured the day before. Intended as a child’s toy but fit enough for her purposes.  
  
Inside it she placed the blanket, the doll, and the other tokens she had brought with her. Then she set the boat in the water and gently pushed it out.  
  
It floated away, and her heart floated with it. Tears blurred her vision, and though her throat constricted she found the words she needed to say.  
  
“I love you, my baby. Always,” she said. “I will never forget you. I will always love you. You will be always be my baby. But…” Her throat tightened. No, she had to say it. Saying it made it true. Saying it would help her grieve. “…you can no longer be my Loki.”  
  
“We will unite one day again in Valhalla,” she whispered through her tears. “Fare thee well, my baby. Fare thee well.”  
  
Then with magic, she set fire to the boat.  
  
She fell to her knees, weeping until nothing remained. The boat was but ash in the water, and there were no more tears left in her eyes.  
  
She remained until sunset, unable to leave.  
  
Then the Queen of Asgard picked herself up and went home.  
  
Odin did not question his wife’s activities for once, and Frigga appreciated it, being able to crawl into her bed without question.  
  
Neither did Gaea question her the next morning, when Frigga picked up the infant, bounced him on her hip with a smile, and said, “And how are we doing this morning, my little Loki?”  
  
Gaea and Odin both exchanged a look, but nothing was said. At least until Thor ran out of the washroom, wearing only a towel around his shoulders, screaming, “I AM A WARRIOR OF ASGARD! FALL BEFORE ME.”  
  
All of the adults stared at the child stunned. And then it was Loki who broke the silence with peals of laughter.  
  
Gaea and Frigga exchanged a look and burst into laughter. And Odin could not hold out against that. Soon they were all clutching their sides, laughing.  
  
Tears streamed down her face, and for the first time in a long while, they were tears of joy.  
  
#  
  
It was Loki who made her laugh.  
  
Loki toddled after his brother. He was laughing in such shrill tones that it was nearly indistinguishable from shrieking. Thor was of course teasing him, staying just out of his brother’s reach, but close enough that it gave Loki hope that he might catch his brother. Loki had only recently started walking and both boys were enjoying the new bond this gave them far too much. So far, tag was there favorite game. Loki stomping around on fat, unstable legs. Thor catching him and tickling him. It was a joy for the both of them and a joy to watch.  
  
Frigga stood in the doorway laughing. Gaea was in the rocking chair, repairing a torn pair of pants. Both women exchanged a smile as Thor pretended to be too slow and let his brother catch up. Thor fell backwards, pulling his brother down with him, cushioning Loki’s fall with his own body.  
  
A large hand touched the small of her back, and Frigga leaned back against Odin’s chest. She did not need to look at him to know he was smiling.  
  
“He is growing up quite well, is he not?” Odin said with satisfaction.  
  
“Impressively so,” Frigga responded. “He is leagues ahead of where Thor was at this age. He thinks he is the same age as Thor and wishes he could do all the things his brother can.”  
  
“I do not doubt it,” Odin laughed. “He is a smart one, our Loki.”  
  
“He is indeed,” Frigga said, her heart brimming with love at the sight of her sons.  
  
She never forgot the son who was not present, the one Thor and Loki would never know. And if Gaea or Odin ever noticed that she no longer called Thor or Loki “baby” and had not since that day so long ago when she disappeared, they never commented on it.  
  
There was only one baby, a child who would forever be her baby never to grow old, and there was a place in her heart that only her baby would ever fill.  
  
But now there was a place in her heart for this Loki, with his black mop of hair, sparkling green eyes, and fierce intelligence that sometimes made Frigga question how old he really was.  
  
“Mama!” Loki laughed, stumbling up to her and holding his chubby arms up. Frigga smiled and leaned down, obliging to pick him up.  
  
“Love you!” he said, snuggling against her.  
  
“And I love you too,” Frigga said, and every day it amazed her that it was true.  
  
There was no changeling, no cuckoo, no monster in the house of Odin. There was only her little Loki, her son.  
  
“I love you both!” Thor exclaimed, jumping off the couch and colliding roughly with Frigga’s legs. It was only Odin’s arm around her waist that kept her from falling over.  
  
Frigga looked down at her two boys and then up at her husband. He was smiling at them all, with his gentle, special expression just for them.  
  
In the end, it was Loki who healed her heart.


End file.
